


Late Night Street Lights

by windandthestars



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cab Driver AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She smiles, head shaking a fine mist of dew against the black of the seat behind her.  "I'm not one to forget a favor."</p>
<p>"I like my coffee black," he jokes lightly, brushing aside the way her eyes seem to be lingering on his face, watching to see what he makes of her promise.</p>
<p>Her nose wrinkles, whether it’s at the coffee or at his improper method of consumption isn't clear, but he laughs because while he knows next to nothing about her, least of all what she looks like, he knows she's absolutely adorable when mildly, mockingly disgusted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Will 's killing time with the radio on, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he occasionally glances out over the darkened, deserted street. He's not exactly sure what he's doing in this part of town- the weather the last couple of nights has been unusually nightmarish, not even the coeds are venturing out for their usual Friday night romp- but he's here anyway hoping for a fare, for some poor sucker trapped in a downpour.

The door to his cab slams and he jerks upright, turning to blink into the sudden wash of light as his passenger settles in. He can't see much past the deep, black hood she has pulled over her head. And she is a she, he's certain of that, perfect curls and the glimmer of a slender nose peeking out of the shadow.

"Where to?" He asks hoping he hasn't been staring. He's not usually so direct in his interest, and the fact that he might be now, with her at least, unsettles him.

It takes her a minute to respond, not out of any sort of indecisiveness, at least not that he senses, but because she seems to be having a sort of internal argument with herself, or so he gathers from her frustrated sigh and the way her nails scrape unconsciously against the nylon of her seatbelt as she fusses with the buckle.

"There's no use now," she concedes with an air of resignation, voice lilting softly as she continues, "it's best to turn in. My hotel is just around the corner, if you please."

"Sure," Will volunteers, amending, “which corner?” when it’s clear she's not about to continue.

She laughs at this, a tiny chuckle held half under her breath as if she’s not usually prone to those sorts of slip ups. "I would say the rather suspect one, but there seems to be quite a few in this part of town."

"That’s a bit of an understatement," Will agrees as she rattles off the address, carefully making sure she's correctly recited it as 269 Bell St West and not West Bell St, a mistake Will commonly sees among the out of towners.

The hotel, if you could wager to call it that, is a particularly rickety building, rundown from hard use but not seedy like so many of the pay by the hour places that litter this part of town, sprinkled between the harsh fenced rows of the industrial park and the glitzy dives the coeds favored. It's not a part of town riddled with junkies or crime, but the thought of leaving her here makes him sad.

It's an unusual sentiment given his proclivity for hanging around this part of town at this time of night, insomniac that he is. More often than not, he's dropping someone off somewhere he thinks they're better off not being, but this time is different, she's different. And when she pulls out her wallet, attempting to slide him a few bills to cover the meager fare, he waves her off.

For a moment he's expecting her to get angry, the look of consternation that flickers across her face is in his experience usually followed by shrieking and shrill accusations, but she smiles instead, head shaking a fine mist of dew against the black of the seat behind her.

"I'm not one to forget a favor."

"I like my coffee black," he jokes lightly, brushing aside the way her eyes seem to be lingering on his face, watching to see what he makes of her promise.

Her nose wrinkles, whether it’s at the coffee or at his improper method of consumption isn't clear, but he laughs because while he knows next to nothing about her, least of all what she looks like, he knows she's absolutely adorable when mildly, mockingly disgusted.

"Not a fan." He intones on her behalf, not a question but a statement. "I get that a lot."

She inclines her head to the side, the slightest tilt, the look he gets when he's concentrating on something, trying to puzzle it out. He's still wondering what it is she might be about to say when he hears the creaking groan of her door being opened slowly- not forcefully, not all at once- it's prone to sticking when faced with hesitance, but she dodn't seem to have a problem with it as she shuts it, carefully, as if she doesn’t want to disturb him, before dashing off into the rain.

"Have a good night," he calls after her knowing she can’t hear him but needing to say it anyway. "Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

He picks her up again a couple of days later.  He doesn't recognize her at first, her long dark curls swept back out of her face, the black coat replaced by a deep burgundy top and a pair of sparkling blue eyes.  It's the tiny smile, the half smirk that twitches on the corners of her lips that gives her away as she meets his eye in the rear view mirror.

"I need to run some errands," she explains without preamble.  "I was hoping you could oblige me."

He shrugs good naturedly and pulls up the block to stop outside a Starbucks, blinker light on, resting at the curb.  She looks surprised for a moment and then laughs a laugh that makes his stomach drop, his grip tighten on the wheel.

"Black," she murmurs to herself, slipping across the seat to unfold carefully onto the sidewalk.

She returns with two cups, one which is offered to him with a crinkle of her nose, and he tries not to beam at the gesture that's already become so familiar to him.  The other cup she sips from cautiously and then, finding it passable, drinks more deeply.  He sets his in the cup holder at his side, savoring the warmth it provides in the cool winter air, and signaling, pulls back out into traffic to head toward her first destination.

He's expecting to watch her pick up her dry cleaning, maybe her shopping, but they crisscross town in a web of narrow streets and back alleys where he kills the engine and hopes no one comes looking for a fight.

He keeps the meter running, but when she slips into yet another unnamed shop, he flips it off, switching it back on when he sees the door creak open.  She already owes him a fortune and it's not yet midday.  He knows she could find whatever it is she's looking for and be on her way at any minute, but he's already made his living and from the look on her face she could use a break.

He swings back up town, back toward the places he finds himself thinking of her, the lawns carefully manicured, chandlers in the entrance ways.  He doesn't think of her in the way he thinks of most of his wealthier clients, the few that he has, but there is something careful, something measured and proper about her.  She obviously has money, the meter ticking away beside his is proof enough of that, but there's something else, something that speaks to a humility, perhaps a more humble beginnings.

She slips back into the cab and pinches the bridge of her nose.  He turns to frown at her, concerned.  "When was the last time you ate?"

It's past noon and while it's possible she had breakfast before she'd hailed him downtown, he finds he wouldn't be surprised if she hadn't.  There's a sense of stubbornness about her, a drive that's fueling her obsessive scurrying around town, a mouse stuck in a maze mad with the smell of cheese.

He's tempted to offer to buy her lunch, but while he finds he's pretty good at reading her, all the subtle shifts in her mood, he's not sure how she would react.  They've been passing favors back and forth, and while that seems normal to him, he gets the sense that she's not used to letting other people take care of her and even less inclined to let her debt increase too sharply.

She mumbles something and he smiles softly, shaking his head.

"How do you feel about sandwiches?"

She studies him for a moment, not curious, but contemplative and then sighs, gesturing toward the end of the block. 

He pulls around the corner and catches the movement of her hand toward the door, prompting him to slide to the curb before she decides to fling open the door and wander through traffic.  She may be beautiful, steely and certain in the way she moves, but she's not invincible, no one is.

She walks into the deli, a little blue shop with wide windows flanking either side of the door and returns several minutes later arms laden with bags.  

He's about to make a quip, something about her feeding an entire army, but it dies on his lips when he sees the way her eyes are sparkling, her face alight with mischief in a way he's never seen, and that smile that had disappeared hours ago.

"Could you take us to a park?"  She asks and he has to cough before he can respond, hands suddenly clammy.

He takes her down to a tiny patch of green grass tucked along the water.  It's not so much of a park as it is a bit of green space no one wanted to bother with, but when the weather's good and the the view is spectacular, the river seeming to stretch forever, an old church, its sad ruins casting shadows at their back.

There is a bench, an old wooden thing, but when she seems inclined to pass it by he pulls an old army blanket out from under the passenger seat, the rough green wool familiar and reassuring as he jogs a few steps to catch up with her.

"This is quite the view."  She notes and he shrugs humbly, smoothing the blanket across the grass as she sets about unpacking her bounty.  "I wasn't sure what you liked."  She confesses, "Black coffee isn't much to go by."

Mustard and deli ham, he wants to say, but not the smoked stuff, perhaps a bit of mayo like his mom used to use, the sweet stuff, not the blander mayonnaise that's so popular here.  Turkey on rye topped high with lettuce, tomato and whatever else he can get his hands on.  He has his favorites, but he's curious to see what she thinks and so he leans back on his hands and regards her with a look of open curiosity.

She takes this as a challenge, building half a dozen sandwiches, cutting them into quarters and offering him a plate stacked with several.  It's a lot of food for just the two of them, but they work their way through it, munching slowly, chatting cautiously and then more animatedly about whatever it is that crosses their minds.  They spend hours sprawled out on the grass laughing over the antics of the seagulls that wander too close and musing over ancient philosophy and the newest installation at the city's art museum.

She's been in town longer than he had expected, and while he's not sure what it is exactly that she's up to, he's not surprised to find she's well educated and endlessly curious.  When she mentions that she's dabbled in psychology, flirted with some pretty interesting neurological stuff, he confesses that he's spent quite a bit of time working in the field, nothing like what she's done, her theories are well grounded, progressive but not eccentric or deluded like his had seemed to be. 

They compare notes on a couple of recent journal articles.  He starts off hesitant, unwilling to confess his failure in the police department, his fall from grace, but she's persistent, curious, and open.  He tests the water and then lays it all out, his backward ideas about the impossible and the improbable, he hints at cases, some from his time back here in Old City but a few from his time in the Bureau: Texas bank robberies, and the occasional disappearance.  He finishes with a shrug as if to dismiss his case and leans back on his elbows to regard her.

She's hiding a smile, not a 'I think you're a raging lunatic' smile, but a genuine one, the corners of her eyes crinkling.  "It's not so impossible," she breathes and he finds he's suddenly a bit breathless, caught up in the radiance of her full blown smile, the glimmer in her eye.

"You're not humoring me."  He smiles absently at the thought as he watches her, wondering suddenly if he has this whole thing wrong.  "You played me."

"Perhaps," she admits and he laughs at this. 

"Why?"

"You interest me."

He rolls his eyes.  "Me?  I won't say I find that hard to believe, but-" he trails off.

"The way you see the world," she seems to take pause, regard him more carefully.  "It's beautiful, rare.  It's quite unlike anything I've seen."

"You're being coy."  He accuses and she shrugs him off, pressing her hair back behind her ear.

"Cautious perhaps,"  She amends and holds out the last of the sandwiches for him to take.  

"It's a hazard of the job."  She apologizes and continues, "Usually it comes in handy, but today I'm finding it rather inconvenient."

"Rather inconvenient."  He mimics the cadence of her words through a mouth full of food, then puzzles over them more slowly after swallowing.  "English. Proper.  But not-" he sighs running through their conversation in his head before meeting her eye questioningly.

"I can't spoil all your fun, Will."  She smirks, and he's so lost in the sight of it, in the need, the desire to make it broaden into a full out grin, that it takes him a moment to realize she'd called him by his name.

"Will?"  He echos, eyes not leaving her face, joy settling down into the cold pit of his stomach.

"You answered a call earlier.  I may have," she searches for the appropriate words, "googled you after I stepped into a shop."

She's lying, that's clear to him, but about what and why, he can't tell.  He had answered a call earlier in an ill-advised attempt to get Meg off his back once and for all and it's possible he slipped up and answered with his name, but he finds that unlikely.  He's always careful, he's spent too many years on the force not to be, but even so he wonders.  He's not used to making mistakes but then again neither is she, this mysterious woman.  They're a good match in that, so he lets it go, and instead begins packing up, bagging up the remnants of their lunch, pulling the blanket out from under her the moment that she stands to help him.

She's disappointed, quietly frustrated, but she's not protesting, not making a sound as he ushers her up the hill and back into the cab.  If she's playing an angle, neither of them are sure what it is anymore and she leaves him without comment when he stops at the curb outside her hotel.  He's not expecting her to cover the fare, but she tosses a wad of bills onto the seat in her wake, and leaves him idling there, wondering why it is he doesn't want her to leave.


End file.
